


Promise Me a Place

by drneroisgod



Category: H.I.V.E. Series - Mark Walden
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Complicated Relationships, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Light Angst, Minor Character Death, Post-Break Up, Regret, Song: House of Memories, Songfic, Unrequited Love, Wuthering Heights References, because i just love how those heights are wuthered, but also i don't really want to be thinking about it anymore, i don't love how it turned out, i have had this idea forever, i would just like it to be done, idk - Freeform, thank you and good night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:53:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29127516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drneroisgod/pseuds/drneroisgod
Summary: Nero remembers his relationship with Elena with fascination and regret long after he has the opportunity to do anything about it.
Relationships: Elena Furan/Maximilian Nero
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	Promise Me a Place

**Author's Note:**

> Credit to Panic! At the Disco for "House of Memories"

_If you're a lover, you should know_

_The lonely moments just get lonelier_

_The longer you're in love_

* * *

Maximilian Nero remembered this about being in love: it meant being alone, just with someone else. Along with the woman, silence was his bedfellow, and he never knew whether to regret it. It was possible he should have told her more. Spoken to her. Prepared her. But then, she never told him anything, either.

He kept Elena’s house intact for her memory’s sake, or, at least, the wish that he wanted to remember her. In the seasons that he wandered in, he found the house much like it had been under her rule: the silk curtains standing sentry in their elegance, the mahogany tables breathing in and out with the cold weather, the fireplace mantle overshadowed by the mirror hanging above it. The house was empty, but not as empty as it had been in her lifetime.

He sat at her kitchen table and thought, _I wish I loved her._

He poured a brandy into one of her glasses in the bedroom and thought, _She was beautiful._

* * *

_I think of you from time to time_

_More than I thought I would_

_You were just too kind_

_And I was too young to know_

* * *

Elena was the heady excitement that came with exploring a new city. She held the energy of buses running a few minutes late and trains that blistered through a countryside she was learning to behold, and would behold again and again through polaroid picture and story. She had a tendency to ramble, Elena, but even her tangents held the innocence of passion. It would never occur to her if she was boring. 

She laughed at restaurants that decorated with painted kitchen utensils and was delighted by ice skating rinks that were hand-painted by Sunday school children. She used to point out clouds in the sky when they blazed in the evening. She used to buy bagels every morning and try a different spread every time. 

There was more to Elena. Her work with the Glasshouse, her passion for the blade. 

Still, in her obituary, there had been a line that read, “A lifelong wanderer, she spoke four languages and visited 61 countries, and called every one of them home.” It was true, but not as true as her frown when she was solving a problem. 

* * *

_Those thoughts of past lovers_

_They'll always haunt me_

_I wish I could believe_

* * *

Nero never stayed long in her house. She was in the yellow wallpaper, in the empty nursery, in the parlor where the baby grand still collected dust. 

When they had been together, he found himself breakfasting with his mother, and he said, “Have you ever been in love?”

She laughed. “I was married to your father for thirty years, Max. What do you think?”

He tried again with Diabolus, who he knew in advance would not understand, but at least would not laugh at his question. 

“Have you ever been in love?”

“Oh yeah, loads of times. And this girl I’m seeing now? I think she’s the one.”

Elena was the type of woman who looked good on your arm at a wedding. Beautiful, charming, witty. Still, a weight lifted from his shoulders when someone else caught the bouquet, a bridesmaid. She cried and ran to her lover and kissed him. Elena seemed unfettered when she returned. 

“Dance with me?” she asked. 

Nero smiled and extended his hand. “Lead the way.”

He regretted everything that happened afterwards. So many things he would change. But in the end, what was the use in moping? Something was cut in her that could not be sewn together again and by the time that happened, he had been long gone.

* * *

_And when your fantasies_

_Become your legacy_

_Promise me a place_

* * *

He built his school thinking of his mother, but he built his library remembering Elena. She would have loved his school, the bustle, the frenzy. She would have been proud. But she would not have stayed.

Nero wondered, had things not gone so badly, if he could have been happy with her. He understood her refusal—she had needs, she wanted wanting and craved craving and, more than that, she deserved it. But what if he had tried? What if he had let her wanderlust grow until it had snaked its way into his chest, as well? If that was love, then perhaps it was survivable. Unhappily, it still felt to him that he would always long for more than survival. 

On his bedside table, he kept her copy of _Wuthering Heights_ , its edges well-worn and soft to the touch. He flipped it open, as he often did, and glanced at the photograph he used as a bookmark. They were grinning with the felicity of young people at the beach, playing hookey with their work and their feelings. Nero slid the photo between the last pages and the cover and returned to the story—ironically enough, a story he felt he understood better than she ever did.

In the margins, she had written, “Villain?” next to Cathy’s name. It made him smile. 

_Ah, Elena,_ he thought. _I wish I had loved you._


End file.
